


Breaking the Silence

by imthealphanow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, No Porn, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imthealphanow/pseuds/imthealphanow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you feel nothing? When you know there is something wrong with you, but you can't stop it? What do you do? This is exactly how Derek Hale is. This is exactly how Stiles Stilinski feels. Can they work it out together? Or is it going to turn out badly for all? A story about finding new friends and working out who you really are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Silence

It's kind of a funny story actually. Well, okay, it’s not funny, but it's a story nonetheless. It begins with a boy, two boys even, and the lingering smell of doubt and defeat. Blood maybe, if one were to be picky. They aren’t normal boys, as such, but who can define the word normal when it comes to the human race anyway? Everyone has their quirks. It just seems like the two boys, young men even, have more quirks than most. It isn’t their fault. They didn’t choose the lives they lead. It just is. And here our story begins.

 

*

 

Derek’s always been quiet. He isn’t sure when he started to revert back inside himself, but he knows pretty damn well that if he tried to hunch in any further he’d probably implode. If he had to guess, it started with her. He doesn't like to talk about her though, doesn't even want to say her name in his head. He has friends. He does, really, but his friends don’t understand him. It's not their fault, but it's annoying when they ask him what’s wrong and can't seem to understand that maybe sometimes there isn’t anything wrong. This is just how he is now.

When he was younger (and God, doesn’t that make him sound like he’s an old man), when he was younger he was always loud and open. Fuck, when he was younger he played music and the whole purpose of music is to make some noise. Everybody knows that. He didn’t care about what people thought of him. Maybe the thing is, is that when you're young; the world isn’t such a disheartening place. Or something. Derek doesn’t know. But what he does know is that he isn’t happy. Or loud. Or open like he used to be. In fact, he’s got so damn quiet he’s ended up here.

Derek didn’t think it was that bad. Sure, there was that time when he didn’t speak for literally a week, and that other time when he had a panic attack in the middle of sport because he was surrounded by too many people, but really. He’s fine.

Maybe that’s just a lie he’s been telling people so long that he almost believes it himself.

The door seems to be mocking him somehow, in the way that only inanimate objects can.

Derek snorts silently. That thought doesn’t even make sense, he reasons with himself.

Derek spends a lot of time in his head these days. It happens.

The room is like any other waiting room, small, boring, with the strains of repetitive classical music that, lets face it, everyone hates but no-one puts anything better on. It's like when you're standing in an elevator, and no matter how many times you’ve been in one- literally thousands of times, that first jolt scares you. As if you're gonna fall to your death. And yet the twinkly elevator music plays on, as if that’s supposed to make you feel better about yourself, brighten up your day. Make you feel better.

Derek thinks it's just a load of bullshit.

Derek remembers a time when music was a haven for him. What does he even do anymore? There seems to be no time left in the world, yet Derek never seems to get anything accomplished. He sighs and rests his chin on his hand, elbow connecting with his thigh. Maybe this is why he’s here. Because he feels like a failure. Derek doesn’t know, or maybe he doesn’t care. Derek doesn’t seem to care about anything anymore. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t talk. He has nothing to argue for, and nothing to argue against. Everything just is, and maybe Derek doesn’t want it that way. Or maybe he does. It's hard to tell sometimes.

The handle on the door behind him creaks open and a dark coloured head peeks through, eyes wide. The boy looks around for a moment, and Derek studies how frail the boy seems. He’s he to see the councillor too, Derek can tell. That boy has issues. Maybe Derek doesn’t know what they are, or indeed who the boy actually is, but why else would he come into the councillor’s waiting room looking like someone’s about to kill him?

The boy swallows and his gaze focuses on Derek. Derek looks right back. He’s pretty, Derek notes, pretty in a way that boys probably shouldn’t be. Everything on his face seems to be a little too large to fit on his head but somehow it works, giving the boy a permanent wide, doe-eyed expression. His hair is brown like his eyes, a deep brown, a brown that makes his face looks even paler than Derek thinks it is. It makes the boy look otherworldly, ethereal if you like. He’s a normal human being, just like Derek. But he seems different.

Sometimes Derek can't always get his point across.

The boy isn’t as short as Derek first thought, but he’s slim, shoulders narrow and legs skinny. He’s wearing a hoodie that dwarfs his frame, ending far past his fingers, and stopping in the middle of his thighs. It's an old jumper, a ratty jumper. It doesn’t look like his own. The boy swallows again and glances nervously at the door. He then casts his eyes back to Derek.

“Is this where we wait for Ms Morrell?” The boy asks quietly, so quiet that Derek wonders if he had imagined it. The boy clutches at his hoodie, knotting the arm holes in his fingers. Derek thinks that the boy makes himself looks even smaller by hunching his shoulders in, as if he’s expecting to get berated by someone at anytime. Derek feels a flash of shock when the first thing he feels is relief.

It's something in the expression maybe; and something in the cowering way that the boy holds himself. It reminds Derek of himself.

And yeah, okay, that might be a horrible thing to think. To wish upon someone that they feel the same way that he does. Out of control. Worthless. Numb. It's nice to know that there’s someone out there who’s feeling that their life is uncontrollable, un-ignorable, yet so damn unwanted. It's nice to know he isn’t alone, that’s all.

Derek looks at the boy, the boy with his eyes lowered, and picking at the holes in the giant sleeves and utters an equally quiet, “yes.” He looks up, staring right at Derek, and gives a small smile in return, grateful for the help.

The kid makes his way to the seat next to Derek, the only other seat in the room, hallway more like. Fingers continue to pick distractedly at the hoodie and before Derek knows it he’s reaching out, laying a gentle hand on the other boys in order to make him stop. Once he has the attention of the other he removes his hand and places it back in his lap.

Derek feels bold when he talks. “Wouldn’t want to make the hoodie waste away to nothing.” He’s pretty sure that’s the longest sentence he’s said all day, all week even.

Derek doesn’t really pay attention to what he says. He probably could, because he never says anything, but he doesn’t deem it necessary. He doesn’t really have anything interesting to say anyway, so it shouldn’t really matter to him.

The boy’s lips quirk, settle in an uneasy smile. However small the expression may be, it lights up his face and makes him look even younger than he already does.

“Thank you.” He says.

Derek’s never been the one to initiate conversation. In fact, he shies away from any kind of dialogue at all. But there’s something about this boy, something completely inexplicable; that makes him want to talk.

“I'm Derek.” He says, and holds his hand out uncomfortably. The boy smiles and takes the hand in his own, palm smooth and warm. The tips of the other boy’s fingers are calloused, very much like Derek’s used to be. Derek wonders what he plays. Guitar? Bass? Maybe even piano. This kid just makes Derek want to know more.

“Stiles.” The boy- Stiles- replies, eyes averted, but the shy smile widening. Derek wants to see that smile more often.

A door opens; the very same one that was winning the staring match against Derek just moments beforehand. A dark head pokes through. “Derek Hale?” The woman says, looking at the two of them. Suddenly Derek’s the complete centre of attention again and he doesn’t know how to act. He shrinks on himself, picking at the sleeves of his own hoodie- much in the same way that Stiles is- and stands up. “Bye.”

He mumbles in Stiles’s general direction, and feels a little lightheaded at the quiet reply he gets in return.

Inside Ms Morrell’s office are an old, battered sofa and a desk, with one of the cool swivel chairs sat behind. Miss Morrell doesn’t even acknowledge the desk just heads straight for the comfy seats and sits down, patting the space next to her. The walls of the room are covered in self help posters and inspirational quotes; all meant to make people feel better about themselves but instead make every single person cringe inwardly at how awful they are.

Derek shuts the door carefully and shuffles over to the sofa, sitting as far away from the guidance counsellor as possible. It's not that she’s ugly, or that she smells bad, in fact she’s stupidly pretty and smells vaguely like honeysuckle.

“Hi there Derek.” Ms Morrell says warmly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Derek notes absently that she has a nice smile, but it doesn’t really do anything for him. Nothing does anything for him anymore. Except-

“- but you can just call me Morrell.”

Whoops, Derek missed the whole first part of that sentence. He nods dumbly but doesn’t say anything else. Should he say anything else? He shouldn’t do anything he doesn’t want to, that what they always say right? And Derek really doesn’t want to talk right now. Or ever. Does he care?

“Now, over the course of the next six months or so, I assure you that we are going to be the very best of friends.” A bit optimistic, in his opinion. “Honestly! You’ll look forward to the time we spend together!”

Derek doesn’t say anything for the rest of the lesson.

Morrell keep asking him questions. How are you? What did you do today? How do you feel?

He feels fucking numb, that’s how he feels.

But nobody wants to know that.

When he exits the room Stiles’s still in there and he looks up to see Derek. A small smile spreads on Stiles’s face, and that little warm feeling, the one that he always gets when he sees it, burrows its way into Derek’s chest and makes Derek feel a little again.

When Stiles walks past Derek his hoodie slides up his wrist slightly and Derek can just make out tiny lines of red, layering and crisscrossing over one another.

Well.

 

*

 

When Derek walks into his next class, his teacher can't even remember his name.

 

*

 

The next time Derek sees Stiles is once again during school, a couple of days later. Derek’s walking through the shitty orchard that the school has, he wants to be alone okay, Jesus, just leave it.

He almost doesn’t notice the boy at first, because he’s wearing the damn black hoodie again, like it's the only thing he owns that will cover up his secrets. Perhaps it is. Derek doesn’t know.

Stiles is curled up under a tree, headphones in and paper in his lap. His head is nodding along to the beat of whatever he’s listening to, and he’s in his own world and Derek doesn’t want to intrude but.

But he kind of does.

Derek slowly makes his way over to where Stiles’s sitting and drops down, sitting about two feet away from the other boy. Stiles doesn’t realise he’s there at first and when he looks up he flinches at the sight of Derek. And Derek? Well, Derek feels bad for making Stiles flinch like that, but he’s not sorry.

Stiles takes a headphone out of his ear and looks down, closing the notepad neatly and placing it by his side.

“Hi,” he says quietly, fidgeting with his hoodie once again. One of his sleeves is starting to unravel.

Derek nods back, not trusting himself to speak. He never trusts himself to speak. That's possibly his problem. Does he have a problem? Derek doesn’t know. He’s not normal. But what exactly constitutes as normal?

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks timidly. “Do you want something?”

Derek shakes his head. Derek never wants anything. He’s ambivalent, one could say.

“O-okay.” Stiles says, and flushes, at the stutter, Derek presumes. “Why are you here then?”

The question surprises Derek, because he isn’t really sure himself. He has nothing else to do maybe, Stiles looked lonely, maybe Derek wants the overwhelming hole of nothingness strangling him inside to subside and Stiles seems to be the only one who can make it lessen, albeit only a little.

“Because I can, and you looked like you wanted a friend.” Derek answers. Stiles flushes and looks down at the pad on his lap, shuffling it around like he isn’t sure what to do now Derek’s said that.

Stiles mutters something but Derek isn’t quite sure what he says and first and asks him to repeat it. Stiles blushes even more.

“I've never had a friend before.” He says, clearer, and Derek feels pretty bad.

Derek shrugs a little, hands folded in his lap. “Well, I guess. Here I am?”

Stiles’s smile is blinding, and he throws himself from the little space in which he sat, right onto Derek himself, scattering pieces of scribbled on paper and a pencil. Stiles hugs Derek hard for a second, then abruptly lets go, face red. Its then that Derek realises Stiles’s mumbling “sorry, sorry,” over and over, and Derek reaches out a little, and places a friendly hand on Stiles’s knee. “Hey, friends, remember?”

Derek doesn’t think he’s initiated a hug in well over a year, hasn’t been hugged at all in at least six months, but he thinks that maybe Stiles needs this more than Derek needs his stability and personal space.

Maybe? Definitely.

He reaches over and pulls Stiles into a light hug, arms enveloping Stiles, but not so much that he could feel trapped.

Stiles returns the hug. And it's nothing more, nothing less. Just a tangle of arms wrapped round warm bodies.

It takes some of the numbness away.

Maybe, just maybe, Derek wishes it could take more than just ‘some.’

 

*

 

They spend more time together after that.

It isn’t immediate, gradual; a slow incline perhaps, but it's definitely natural. Sometimes, when before Derek would just walk alone, forgoing lunch maybe, in an attempt to clear his head, he now seeks out the boy in the badly fitting clothing, and the dark thoughts that make them both so similar.

Derek meets up with Morrell once a week still. Wednesdays, eleven fifteen until twelve. She’s not so bad. Not really, but Derek can't help but feel that she doesn’t really aid Derek in any way, she’s just there asking persistent questions that Derek doesn’t feel he can answer. Not yet. He’s not ready yet.

It's Thursday, and Derek’s with Stiles. Stiles seems happy enough. He talks to Derek now, it's like the secret codes been given, and everything that was previously locked away is now out in the open. In fact, he doesn’t seem to stop talking. Derek doesn’t mind, he’s grown to like the voice that rises and falls in pitch whenever Stiles gets excited about something. Stiles has a nice voice. Derek’s content just to listen. It works.

They’re talking music today.

“What? But Simon and Garfunkel are the best duo ever to have lived Derek! I mean, seriously, The Sounds of Silence? The harmonies in that are so beautiful.”

Derek laughs quietly. “Yeah Stiles,”- Stiles. It slips out so easily. So, so easy- “I know, but they’re kind of generic, you know? Broaden your horizons.”

He doesn’t know why he said that. Derek hasn’t listened to a single song in months.

Stiles’s mouth is a round O of shock. “Derek!” He admonishes. “I won't take that! Everything about them is amazing and you can't change my opinion of them at all.”

Derek’s learned that Stiles is kind of stubborn sometimes.

“I used to listen to them all the time.” Derek admits. He doesn’t really know why he’s telling Stiles this. For all the shit that’s wrong between the two of them, they don’t talk about it. He thinks that they’re both used to suffering in silence.

“I don’t anymore. I don’t really listen to anything.”

Stiles frowns. This is serious. “Why? Music helps me all the time.” Stiles says.

Derek shrugs. Default move. “Because I don’t want to.” He says.

It's true.

“But. But why not? I don’t understand. I thought you used to be in a band as well?”

“I don’t know okay? I don’t know. I just can't, because it doesn’t seem tangible. Nothing’s real anymore.

“I just can't.” Derek repeats quietly.

Stiles wraps an arm loosely around Derek’s shoulders, but Derek’s too numb to feel it.

 

*

 

They don’t talk about their parents.

It seems to be an ongoing acknowledged thing that Stiles’s relationship with his parent is more messed up than anything Derek has even thought about, and it's just better not to go there, okay?

Which is why Derek’s surprised when Stiles catches his hand and leans backwards, making Derek lie down with him.

“My dad doesn't want me.” He says. “Never has done.”

It's a brash statement, one that should be shrouded in neon lights, with loud noises blaring and large things pointing to the words and saying ‘THIS IS UNEXPECTED.” And “WOAH, THIS IS NOT NORMAL AND NEEDS TO BE TAKEN CARE OF CAUTIOUSLY.” Or whatever. That’s what life’s like now, for the stars. Right?

Derek turns until he’s facing Stiles and strokes the inside of Stiles’s palm, but not close to Stiles’s wrist. That’s another acknowledgement right there. They know what Stiles does to himself; they don’t need to shout it out to the world.

“Why do you think that?” Stiles sighs, and rolls as well, so they’re face-to-face.

It could be romantic but it's not. It’s intimate, sure, but not in that way.

"He drinks a lot, you know?” He smiles but it looks more like a grimace. “I’ve never had clothes that I can call my own, because they’re all hand-me-downs from cousins that we don't talk to anymore. Dad told me a couple of weeks ago that I was killing him. That I'd killed mom, and I was killing him too. He told me I needed help.”

Stiles looks right into Derek’s eyes, and it’s too much but Derek can't look away, he’s trapped in Stiles’s brown irises. “I know I don’t need help for that.” Stiles says softly. “I just need help for the things I don’t know.”

And he sounds so broken. So, so broken and messed up and confused and Derek relates.

He thinks this is why I started talking to him. Because he understands me, he knows what I'm going through. He gets me.

“I know what you mean. Sometimes people just don’t get you.”

Stiles smiles and snuggles closer to Derek. His hoodie’s sleeve rides up a little, but they don’t focus on that.

“You get me Derek. You understand.”

The thank you Stiles mouths into Derek’s chest feels almost like an answer to a prayer.

 

*

 

Stiles tries to get permission to stay round Derek’s house one time. He’s crushed when his dad says no. Derek wraps Stiles in a hug and squeezes, feeling the small, bony little body hug back. Stiles is silent for a while.

“I wonder what would have happened to me if I had never started cutting.” He says finally, and woah, this is further that Stiles’s ever said about his ‘condition’ before. “I mean, would I be happier? I don’t know Derek. I think I've always been sad. Maybe I've always been a little down. But there’s times when I think that actually I don’t need it; and it just. I don’t do it.”

This is good right? Letting it out to someone. Maybe Derek isn’t the best person for this, but he’s a good listener. Fantastic even.

“Why did you start?” Derek asks tentatively. Is this right? Is that what he’s supposed to say?

Stiles says nothing for a moment, and Derek thinks that what he’s said is wrong. No.

Then he speaks. “I think I started because I felt alone. I felt like I had nothing else that I could rely on. I'm so used to not being wanted that I… I don’t know. It feels so natural. I like the blood.” Stiles says; a satirical, twisted smile on his face. It doesn’t suit him.

“When?” Derek whispers. Does he even want to know?

“The beginning of eighth grade.” Stiles shrugs. “Something like that. I don’t know, I don’t keep track of everything I did aged thirteen.”

It's been a long time since Stiles was in eighth grade. Years.

Stiles then laughs softly, but it's not a nice laugh. It's a filthy laugh, it sounds sardonic, self-deprecating.

“The only way you’d be able to tell when I started,” Stiles says, and he says it so evilly. So horribly, and it's directed at Stiles himself. “The only way you’d tell, is if you looked at the scars on my body.” It's a revolting thought. A repulsive thought, if you like.

“But you help Derek.” Derek turns to look at the little face hidden in his shoulder, surprised.

“Really?” He says, because, really? What has he done? As far as Derek knows, he’s just sat with Stiles a couple of times, let him jabber on about random stuff, and hugged him when it seems appropriate.

Stiles smiles and nods. He looks so much happier now than he did when Derek first saw him, was it really two months ago now?

“Sure. I mean, you're the first friend I've ever had, and it’s been nice to have you around, you know? You help so much. I never realised having a person who you could share your thoughts and hug whenever you wanted was so helpful. You're amazing Derek. Really.”

Derek feels a little choked, and it isn’t because he’s upset.

“Thanks little man.” Derek says, and feels Stiles’s chuckle against his own belly.

“It’s good to know I'm doing some good.” Stiles sits up and looks him straight in the eye. “You do more than some good.” He says solemnly, eyes wide with honesty. “You're helping me realise that I don’t need to hurt myself to feel better. I think I can finally begin to heal because of you.”

Stiles snuggles back into Derek’s side. “I’m going to throw my razor away tonight,” He says quietly. “I want to get rid of it while I'm still ahead. Help me get rid of it?”

Derek nods. Of course. “Of course.” He replies.

That night, when the full moon is high in the sky (Stiles snuck out of the house while Derek waited shivering outside) they go to the pond, the dingy one in near their school that everyone throws shit into. It's become a dumping ground for all things unwanted. This piece of metal is lusted for by one, hated by the other, but they’re going to get rid of it, whether Stiles still wants it or not.

Derek holds Stiles’s hand while Stiles flexes his arm, and they watch the spinning arch of dulled silver leave his hand with a small splash, never to be found again.

It's quite romantic in a way really.

They stand there, and then Stiles turns to him and says, "You know me better than anyone else. I want to tell you something that only a few people know."

Derek waits quietly for Stiles to tell him.

"My real name," the boy says. "My real name isn't Stiles. It was given to me by my mom. It was her grandfather's name. Przemysław. It means clever. Mom thought I'd be a real genius, huh."

Derek steps closer to the boy and just says, "It suits you perfectly. How do you spell it?"

 

*

 

Stiles’s getting better.

Derek can see it in the way that he acts around Derek, and the way he moves whilst walking amongst other people. He smiles more; Derek’s heard him laugh more than once. When they walk down the corridor, Stiles doesn’t flinch every time someone gets too close to him. It's nice to see someone slowly on the road to recovery. He’s gonna make it, some time in the future.

Derek? Well, it's harder for him. He feels like he’s got to be the father figure Stiles’s never had, the tough one, the one who has to keep it all together and make sure that the skinny boy doesn’t slice himself to pieces.

Maybe Derek doesn’t talk about how he feels, maybe he doesn’t talk about what he knows is gong to happen one day soon- he’s going to burst and it's all going to end badly. Derek thinks that he’s kept the lid on disaster for long enough, he can wait it out even more.

Maybe this plan gets just that little bit harder when Isaac pops up in front of Derek, when he is on his way home from school. He doesn’t notice the boy in front of him at first. It's only when the snap! Of fingers in front of him suddenly pop out from right under his nose that Derek realises Isaac’s been walking by him for a while.

Derek gives a little wave and steps in, moves so Isaac has a chance to walk on the sidewalk next to him. Isaace looks upset. It doesn’t bode well.

“You're my best friend, right?” Isaac asks, looking to Derek for confirmation.

Derek nods uncertainly. Where is this going? It can't be good. Negative, negative, negativity. Morrell always said to think on the positive side. Now Derek’s let her down.

“So why is it that we are two best friends, and yet I haven’t actually spoken to you since January? Three fucking months Derek! I mean, I tried at first to help you, but you pushed me, and Scott, and all the rest of us away, but fuck me, I won't stand for this. I miss you Derek.”

Derek opens his mouth to say that he sat with Isaac at lunch last week, even if they didn’t say a word, but Isaac cuts him off.

“Yes, Derek, I know we sit together sometimes, but you're never there. You haven’t been there in months, years even. Do you know how that makes me feel? Seeing my best friend waste away until he’s nothing but a husk who never says anything? I know you go to counselling now Derek, but Jesus; you need to put some effort in! You can't just expect it to all work out itself! Do you enjoy living like this?”

Derek doesn’t know what to say, can he speak? He doesn’t think so. He just shakes his head and looks down. Isaac forces his head back up with his fingers so that his eyes meet Derek’s own. “Then why do you fucking act like this? Going off, with your, ‘oh, woe is me’ attitude when there’s clearly nothing actually wrong in your life as a whole, you're just acting out and not doing a damn thing to save yourself. Jesus, just do something about it!”

“Shut up!” Derek yells, and pulls himself roughly out of Isaac’s grasp. “You don’t have a clue how I feel, you don’t understand what I feel like day in, day out-”

“And why do you think that is?” Isaac snarls. “Because you never fucking tell me anything! I've tried, over and over, to talk but you just brush me off. I don’t think you even consider me a friend anymore.

“You know what?” Isaac slumps and suddenly looks about thirty years older. It's not a good look. “I give up. I can't help you. I've tried, so, so hard, but you're just hurting me more than I'm helping you. I can't do this Derek. I love you man, but I just can't do it.”

Derek’s breath hitches. They’ve been best friends forever; it can't end like this. Can it? He doesn’t want it all to end this way. Does he?

“I'm sorry Derek.” Isaac utters, almost inaudibly. Tears leak down his face. Whose face? “Come back to me when you're ready to be fixed.”

When Isaac walks off, it's the stumble of a man defeated.

Derek didn’t even know he’d won anything.

 

*

 

That night, Derek’s at home, in his room, like always.

Through his mind are words, one word in particular. It starts with an S, ends in Y, and has the letters ORR in the middle. He’s so sorry. Sorry for what? Sorry for nothing. Sorry for everything, sorry for not being anything. Sorry, sorry, sorry. The word loses meaning after a while doesn’t it? No-body cares about the word ‘sorry’ anymore. It means fuck all.

It's kind of funny really. Well, it's not funny, not in the least. Derek’s tried so hard to keep himself together for Stiles, for his parents, for Isaac- so bittersweet and angry and painful and regret- but now he thinks that if he were a scarf, he’s been so moth-bitten and shredded and unravelled that there isn’t anything left. Yeah, no. it’s not funny at all. It's quite tragic really.

He’s at home.

What's different from usual is that he can hear raised voices. His parents are unusually relaxed about most things, like that time when Derek pulled an all-nighter and got stupidly drunk at somebody’s house (he was fourteen and irrational, okay) and then faked sick the next day. They knew he wasn’t ill, but they went along with it anyway.

This? This isn’t normal.

Derek pulls himself out of his bed and shuffles to the door, opening it quietly and stepping into the hallway so he can hear his parents more clearly.

“He’s tearing us apart, can't you see that? All we do is worry about him and he just sits there in his room and doesn’t care about how much effort we put into helping him!”

Oh. Not so much butterflies as giant concrete bricks, churning in his stomach and blocking his throat.

“But he’s just-”

“Don’t tell me he’s just going through a phase!” His mother shouts and Derek flinches even though there’s an entire wall, with plaster and peeling paint between the two of them.

“It's been nearly two years now, and I can't take seeing him like this anymore! He needs to do something with his life or swear to God, just. Argh!”

Frustration. Derek’s never heard it in his mother’s voice before, and it's painful to hear. There’s also pain and anger and worry and so many other negative emotions and it's all because of him. He can't even pretend that it’s not about him, because no-one else in this household stays in their room all day and is a total nuisance.

Next thing he knows he’s in the bathroom, water running in the bath, a razor in between his thumb and forefinger.

He’s never done this before.

If Derek’s honest, when people asked him what he wanted to be when he was older, the word ‘dead’ never really crossed his mind. But here we are.

Derek doesn’t think he’s really been thinking for the past fifteen minutes. It probably should be a good idea to do so, but he isn’t.

When Derek makes the first incision he laughs, because it's funny that this is the most he’s felt in months.

It's horrifying and painful, but it's so poetically beautiful, feeling, and watching the water blossom from clear to crimson.

He makes another line, and another, switching hands, doing the same to the other side until he can feel, he can feel and its better this way, it really is. Mom won't need to worry anymore. Mom and dad won’t argue. His brothers and sisters won't have to pretend that they care. Isaac won’t need to worry about him anymore. Stiles is getting better; he can do the rest of it by himself. Everything will be okay. Everything will be so, so much better with Derek out of the picture.

Everything is always better without Derek.

The sharp shocks are fading now, and Derek wants to feel the burn again but he can't quite seem to move his arms. He can't seem to move anything at all, and it's kind of scary for a moment but then everything fades around the edges and Derek isn’t there to be scared anymore.

 

*

 

Lets just pause here for a moment.

Sometimes, people do things that are irrational to others. To themselves, it seems like a perfectly legitimate idea, perhaps the only idea they can go ahead with. It's not right, but that’s how some people feel. Some people are logical, some aren’t. Some deal well in bad situations. Others don’t.

Some feel it necessary to kill themselves to get out of the way of others.

No, it's not necessary, or a good idea, but some don’t see that. They feel like failures, they can't think of anything else that would work better than to pretend they never were there in the first place. Scrape, and then they don’t have to think anymore. It happens to more people than one would think, which is a horrible concept.

There’s always another option, but Derek just couldn’t see it. It happens.

For your information, the character Derek doesn’t die. That would be a rather horrible end to a story of two people who are fighting together for happiness in this world. The two of them have much more to look forward to in this life, so much love and gentle words and the kind of romance only novelists can come up with. This story hasn’t ended yet.

Shall we continue?

 

*

 

Derek’s first thought when he wakes up is ouch followed by Stiles, followed by shit. Perhaps not the most eloquent of thinking sequences, but Derek’s a little too drugged up and tired to be articulate right now. As he blinks his eyes open, wincing in the harsh light, he sees the frail body curled up in a chair. Stiles looks exhausted, even whilst he’s sleeping. One of the sleeves of his hoodie has ridden up, exposing half-healed cuts. But no new ones.

Thank god.

Derek’s in a hospital bed; and his arms are down by his sides, covered to the elbow in white bandages. Derek’s left hand has an IV sticking out of it, the fluid leaking in from a bag hanging near his head on a stand. His skin is so pallid the strips of gauze are almost the same colour as his body. It's kind of hideous.

Derek’s also parched; his throat’s dry and his tongue is stuck to the top of his mouth. He looks around for some water, and spots a water jug and paper cup on the flimsy wooden table next to him.

Without wanting to wake up Stiles- Stiles, who looks so tired, so delicate, so beautiful- Derek painfully sits up and reaches for the jug.

As he goes to lift it up however, his fingers seem to be unable to work, and the jug drops slow motion to the floor.

Smash, and then Stiles’s startled awake.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Derek apologises, voice creaky with disuse.

There’s water pooling underneath Derek’s bed.

Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too busy staring at Derek with an expression that seems almost intrusive.

“Um.” Is all Derek can say before Stiles’s throwing himself across the space of the small room and hugging Derek so hard he’s pretty sure his ribs are gonna crack.

“Derek. Derek.” Stiles repeats incessantly, and he finds himself pawing at Stiles’s back, not sure what else to do.

“Derek.” Stiles repeats in a broken tone one last time, and then he sits back, still holding lightly onto Derek’s upper arms. He’s crying, silently. Small drips fall quickly as if they aren’t even touching his skin, but the glistening trails left behind tell a different story.

“Derek.” He says one last time, before he slaps the boy in question across the face.

It doesn’t hurt, not really, but it still makes his head rock to the side and a stinging sensation erupts from the right side of his face.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again!” Stiles bursts out, before sniffing, and burrowing back into Derek’s arms, mindful of his wrists.

“I was so scared Derek.” Stiles whimpers- actually fucking whimpers- “they said they’d found you in the bathroom and they didn’t know what to do, and nobody told me until you were here! I've stayed here since you arrived. So, so scared.”

Derek presses his face against Stiles’s hair and feels terrible. “I'm so sorry Stiles. I didn’t mean to make you worried, I just-” Derek stops. What had he even been trying to do? How would killing yourself solve anything? “How long have I been here?” He asks instead. He can't think about anything else right now, everything feels like it's underwater.

“Three days. They had to give you an emergency blood transfusion, but it didn’t work, as you’d lost so much blood, so they kept you under longer so they could give you more. They thought your kidneys were gonna fail for a while.”

Stiles says quietly, and Derek feels so bad.

“I'm so sorry Stiles.” He speaks into the younger boy’s hair. It's greasy.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to make you worry I was just. Fuck I don’t know. I just felt I needed to be out of the picture, completely. I felt like I was just hurting everyone. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t think. I was so messed up at that moment and I needed t do something but I wasn’t thinking, I'm so sorry.”

Stiles sighs. He looks so desperate, as if he can't get anything out fast enough. “I'm so glad you're still here. I love you Derek.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say. What do you say? His head’s still fuzzy.

“I love you too.” He says carefully. Stiles pulls back a little, so he can look Derek in the eye.

“No Derek. I love you.” He says, stronger than Derek’s ever heard him.

It's like something snapped. Once Stiles’s said it once, he can't stop. It spills out, ‘I love you’ mixed in with ‘please don’t leave me again’ and all the little things that Stiles can't say, like ‘you're the only one that’s helped me for the better.’

“I love you too.” Derek says again and then he can't help it.

He drifts off into unconsciousness once more, Stiles snug in his arms and muttering sweet nothings that somehow mean everything.

The water jug is still smashed on the floor.

 

*

 

The next time Derek wakes up he’s alone, but not for very long.

A female nurse comes bustling in, staring at Derek in a fond way that makes Derek wonder if he’s seen this woman before.

“Hi!” The woman says, coming over to the side of the bed and opening the curtains above Derek’s head.

“You're awake. Good morning! I'm Melissa; I've been looking after you.”

She’s bright, bubbly, with a gorgeous skin colour and face that makes Derek slightly jealous, even if he isn't a woman.

As he studies her, he realises where he knows her from. It's Scott's mom.

“How are you feeling?” Melissa asks, as she checks the IV levels, before tugging lightly on Derek’s left arm. Derek lifts it up willingly, and Melissa starts to unravel the bandages wrapped tightly around his arm.

“Good. I'm… yeah, good.” Derek says, and feels shocked to know that it's true. He feels, and what's more, he feels okay. It feels amazing. Stiles.

“I feel good.” Derek smiles up at Melissa, who looks up from where she’s exposing Derek’s arm and she smiles.

“That’s great.” She replies, and Derek feels the sincerity rolling off the chirpy man in waves.

“Oh hey look!” Melissa says, and Derek does as told, seeing the neatly stitched up lines crossing from his wrist near to his elbow. There are seven of them in total, on his left arm. They stretch vertically from his wrist up to his elbow.

From the aches Derek can tell that his right arm doesn’t have as many. It's scary because Derek doesn’t really remember making them, well, there are murky thoughts of red and scared, and pain, but that appears to be it. But no-one else who could have done it. No-one else but him.

“They are looking so much better now.” Melissa says admirably, grabbing a fresh roll of gauze and begins to neatly wrap it back over Derek’s arm. “No sign of infection there! You might be allowed to go soon, if the Doc says so.”

Derek smiles. A small, unobtrusive smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Wow, really?”

“Sure! I mean, we’ll have to enrol you in therapy and stuff, keep you here a while longer to make sure that everything’s alright but you seem okay at the moment. Would you like some breakfast?”

Derek startles at the abrupt change in conversation, but nods slowly. “Thank you. Could I have some water as well please?” He asks, and Melissa nods eagerly.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” She says and scrabbles for a paper cup and water, sitting on a trolley that also holds some toast and unidentifiable spreadable solid, as well as bandages and pills and other assorted medical aids.

“Can you hold the cup?” Derek thinks back to the smashed jug, but the difference in weight between a jug and a glass is pretty drastic, and Derek doesn’t feel as tired anymore.

“Yeah, I think so.” The plastic trembles in his grip, but he manages to take a long drink without it spilling. The cool liquid feels like heaven on his throat and Derek sighs with contentment, barely acknowledging Melissa’s answering chuckle.

“Well, here’s your breakfast,” Melissa says, laying out the food, on a moving table, that swings until it's situated in Derek’s lap. “I’ll come and collect the dirty plates in a while. And visitors are allowed in half an hour so enjoy!”

Then she’s gone. A flash of blue uniform and brown hair.

The bread is stale, and only just lukewarm, but Derek doesn’t really mind. If he remembers correctly this is his fourth day without food, so he’s pretty hungry. The condiment is vaguely apricot flavoured, but Derek isn’t too sure. It doesn’t taste bad, exactly. Just odd.

True to her word, his parents arrive forty five minutes later, looking harassed and worried.

When Derek’s mother sees that he’s awake she rushes forward and pulls him into his arms, more roughly than Stiles did. It makes his arms ache a little, but Derek dutifully wraps his arms around her. Derek had forgotten what she smelt like until now, it’s been so long. Talia smells like home, a little piece of familiarity and comfort. It's been too long since he’s felt those arms around him. Too long, too long.

“You scared me so much honey, I never realised- oh gosh, please I never want to go through that again Derek. Please don’t make me. I love you Derek. I love you so much, and I don’t ever want to lose you. You're my baby. Don’t take yourself away from me.” Derek feels tears prickling at his eyelids. Stop. “I'm sorry, I just heard you two arguing and I’d had a really bad day and it just seemed like the only option and-” “Don’t say that! I was arguing because I was worried!”

In the background, Derek’s dad nods his head in agreement. “We love you and we never want you to go away.”

“I’m sorry, I love you, I love both of you. I don’t want to kill myself anymore. I want to get better, I do.” He does, he really does.

He doesn’t think it's wrong that the main reason why he wants to get better is because of Stiles.

 

*

 

Derek’s released five days later, when the doctor is sure that there is no infection and Derek is apparently mentally stable enough to be okay back at home.

He doesn’t mind waiting so long to return, not really, but he’s glad to finally shower because sponge baths just don’t do the job. His hair feels horrible.

Stiles drops by after Derek’s been home for about four hours or so. He greets Derek’s parents as if he’s met them before, and then Derek realises that they must have met whilst he was unconscious.

When Stiles meets Derek’s eyes, he blushes, smiles daintily and goes sits down next to Derek on the sofa, snuggling in close. Derek’s parents say nothing, but Derek can feel their pleased smiles.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asks happily as Derek slings an arm carefully around Stiles’s shoulders.

“I'm feeling good.” Derek replies; and then smiles. He feels. He feels. “I feel.” He says wonderingly and Stiles cranes his neck up to peck Derek on the chin, right on the border where face becomes neck.

“It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it?” Stiles says quietly, so that Derek’s parents can't hear them.

And yeah, it kind of is.

Derek hums in agreement, and takes a hold of Stiles’s hand.

When they both make their way upstairs- slowly, because Derek still feels embarrassingly weak- Stiles collapses on Derek’s bed without saying anything.

He makes cute little grabby hands at Derek, but Derek resists the pout for a moment. Pottering around for a few more moments, Derek finally manages to get his speakers to work; and Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘The Sounds of Silence’ begins to play quietly in the background.

Stiles tugs Derek until they’re spooning, Derek the little one for once.

“Music helps you all the time.” Derek quotes Stiles quietly, and Stiles nods against Derek’s shoulder.

“Does it seem more tangible to you now?” Stiles asks lightly, but the question is so loaded, it weighs in the air like one hundred tons, ready to drop and crush them both.

“Yeah.” Derek replies. “Yeah it does.”

And then the weights are lifted and both of them are safe.

“I love you.” Stiles murmurs, and Derek sleepily returns the sentiment.

_Whispered, in the sounds of silence._

*

 

Three days after that, Derek goes back to school.

Everyone knows by now what he did to himself, and he has people staring at him, talking about him when they think he’s not listening. They latch onto the bandages when his sleeve rides up. It's oppressive.

They haven’t made it official yet, but they’re acting so much like boyfriends that Derek doesn’t think anything of it.

The first day Stiles comes and finds Derek, shrinking away from the looks and the prying faces. “Don’t worry about them.” Stiles says, but leads him away to a slightly more sheltered spot anyway.

“I don’t care about them, or what they think of me anymore, and neither should you.” It shouldn’t really help, that line, but Derek feels like it’s easier to breathe, after that.

They sit there for the rest of the lunch, hands folded in each others, laughing over Derek’s brother’s terrible date from the other night.

Towards the end of lunch hour Isaac comes and finds them.

Derek hasn’t spoken to him since the suicide attempt. God was it really only a week ago?

“Hey.” Isaac says awkwardly, hands shoved in pockets and blond hair covering one eye.

He looks shifty, like he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s here. In the background, there’s Scott, who’s obviously spurred Isaac on.

Derek feels kind of stupid when he realises how much he’s been a dick to his friends the past couple of years. After a look at Stiles, Derek releases their hands and steps off the bench they were sitting on.

He wraps Isaac up in a hug, and the boy returns it gladly, clinging on as if he’s dying. They aren’t dying, neither of them. Derek’s over that now.

“I'm sorry Derek.” Isaac mumbles over and over, and goddamn, Derek’s sick of that word now. Everyone’s sorry. He’s sorry. He knows this.

“I didn’t mean for you to do that.” Isaac says.

“I didn’t want you to do that.” Isaac says.

“Please never scare me again like that.” Isaac says.

“I won't, I promise. I love you too.” Derek replies.

Derek looks up to see Stiles staring at him, still perched on top of the wooden table. There’s tears in his eyes, but Derek knows it's not because of jealousy, or unhappiness. It's like Stiles’s unconsciously saying, “look who you would have impacted if it had worked. It’s not just your family, or me.”

Isaac’s crying too but it's manlier than any tears Stiles or Derek have ever shed. When they pull back Derek wipes delicately, tenderly under Isaac’s eyes and they both smile at each other.

It's a watery smile, but it means more to the two of them than anything they have ever exchanged before in their lives. This is all the layers taken off. This is who they really are. With the armour shed, and the foul words discarded, they are nothing more than two boys who are so scared of each other, but they care so much about the other that the terrible things are immediately trumped by the good.

They are best friends, and best friends stick together. They’ve spent too long apart. Much like the rest of Derek’s life, it is time to start anew, afresh, once again, so that this time, Derek can get something right. He’s made his mistakes, now is the time to learn from them.

“I'm sorry too.” Derek says and Isaac rests their foreheads together.

“Best friends?” Isaac says quietly, and Derek says “always.”

They release each other and Derek goes over to Scott. Allison is sitting next to Scott, hands twisted together. Derek is so happy he can't even find it within him to shudder, knowing that this girl is related to the person that made him this way. She's nothing like her aunt, and Derek realises this now. She's always been nice to him, even when he's been a horrible person. The tanned boy thumps him soundly on the back, almost knocking him over to the other’s amusement. Once Isaac’s stopped snorting, they all crowd around the table, Stiles’s hand warm in his again.

Isaac raises his eyebrows in a way that looks vaguely paedophiliac to Derek, but Derek just smiles warmly back, and raises Stiles’s hand lightly, kissing the back of it.

Stiles doesn’t stop talking to Scott about the ‘awesome chord progressions’ in Bowie’s music, but the corner of his lips lift too much to remain undetected. The four of them spend much more time together, after that.

 

*

 

The first time he has an appointment with Morrell after his attempted suicide Derek sits there in silence for twenty minutes of the allotted forty-five. Then, realising that this was exactly what he had done beforehand- and he really doesn’t want to end up like that again- he spills.

He tells her everything. The overwhelming loneliness that he felt before, even when surrounded by people who he had known since he was five. He tells her about how he pushed himself inside so that no-one would want to befriend him, digging himself a never-ending hole. He tells her of how numb he felt, how he didn’t know how to escape the feeling of nothing that he felt. If that even makes sense. He tells her about Kate, he even says her name aloud. He tells her everything she did, everything she made him feel. He says he hopes she's far away from him.

“It was weird.” He cries, mumbling into one of the pillows on Morrell’s couch. “It was weird, because I didn’t even notice how I was blocking everyone out at first. How I was retreating into my mind so much that I couldn’t get out, and it was too scary in there to do anything but pretend I was okay. And by that time that I did notice what I had done, I didn’t know what to do anymore. I’d pretty much given up.”

He's shaking by the time he’s finished, tears are dripping down his face. Reaching out, Morrell takes his hands in hers and allows him to cry without making comment. She subtly hands Derek tissues and he takes then gratefully, wiping tears and snot away before crumpling them haphazardly in his hands. Morrell gives him a bin to put them into without saying anything.

It’s then that Derek realises that Morrell is actually kind of awesome. He wishes he’s known that before.

When he stops crying, he tells Morrell of how he’s befriended Stiles, how he thinks that Stiles is helping him, how he thinks that Stiles is more than just a friend and Stiles feels the same way. Morrell listens attentively.

“Stiles is definitely a positive influence on you.” She says, “As you are on him. You're his idol. Did you know that? He cares about you very much.” Derek feels that he doesn’t really need the reassurance, but it's welcome nonetheless.

Morrell tells him that hurting oneself is never the solution to a problem, and that if he does it again he needs to tell somebody, but somehow Derek doesn’t think he’s gonna have much of a problem. Sure he’s gonna have down days. Maybe he might feel suicidal again. But he has Stiles now, and Stiles’s going to help him get back together again.

When Derek leaves the room, Stiles’s sitting in the room outside, where they first met, and Stiles smiles at him, just like he did before.

The kiss he gives Derek, right on the lips, is new though. Derek isn’t ashamed to say he loves it.

 

*

 

It's a give take relationship.

When one needs help, the other will come. Same for the other way round.

Four months after Derek’s suicide attempt Stiles calls Derek saying that he’s been kicked out of his house and he’s just gone to a public toilet and wants to cut himself.

Derek leaves the family mid meal, without saying goodbye or where he’s going. It's late January, fucking freezing, frosty because it’s northern California, and Derek runs out the door without a jumper on. It's also seven at night, and almost completely dark, except for the streetlights.

When he gets to the toilets Stiles told him he was in he finds the small figure crumpled on the floor, head on the dirty, musty smelling tiles. A sliver of glass is clenched in his grip. Unsanitary. Terrifying.

Surrounding him appears to be all his possessions, namely two hastily packed bags and a rucksack filled to the brim with detritus.

“Oh baby.” Derek says gently, placing a light arm on Stiles’s shoulder. The boy is shaking, sobbing, shivering from cold. It’s a pitiful sight. They stay like that one the filthy floor, until Derek’s fingers have turned from a bright red to a bluish white colour. Derek can't really feel much in his fingers anymore, but that’s okay, because they’ll be inside in the warmth of Derek’s house soon. He carefully helps the- now silent and shocked- boy back to his house. Stiles walks as if he is mindless.

When they get to Derek’s house, Derek begs his parents to say nothing with his eyes, before gently placing Stiles’s belongings on the ground. He leads the boy upstairs into his room, where he strips Stiles down to his boxers and bundles him in the masses of blankets and duvet on his bed. Derek does the same to himself and crawls in as well, wrapping his arms around the skinny body and nuzzling his face into the sweet-smelling dark hair.

“It’s not your fault.” He murmurs, lips catching on the lobe of Stiles’s ear. “You have done nothing wrong. You're perfect, okay? This isn’t your fault. I love you Stiles. I love you so fucking much.”

One would think that just words wouldn’t help. But words are powerful. Derek knows this. As does Stiles.

Stiles relaxes, pushing back into Derek’s grasp, and then the tears come. It’s like a flood, once Stiles’s started, he can't seem to stop. But Derek doesn’t mind at all, because this is what they do for each other. Give, take.

“I love you Stiles.” Derek says, right in the boy’s ear. Over and over, still whispering it lightly when Stiles’s body has gone lax, breathing even and tears drying on his face. When they wake up the next morning, Stiles still looks exhausted, exhausted like Derek feels, but he has a small smile on his face.

This is what they do for each other.

 

*

 

Here the story ends. Our story, if you wanted to put it like that. For although many may read it, you are the one reading it right now, and you are most important of all.

But still, here the story ends.

That isn’t to say that this particular story stops here, and that it falls to pieces. The story in question carries on. It spans two entire lifetimes.

Maybe they stay together. Maybe they don’t. Maybe they get married, maybe they don’t. Maybe Derek comes home one day to find Stiles sitting on his couch, after they haven’t seen each other in a while, due to university and school and stress, and Derek picks him up and twirls him round, says "I love you, Przemysław" before kissing him breathlessly, and making them both laugh.

Maybe Derek still has down days where he doesn’t speak at all and even Stiles can't draw him out of it.

Maybe Derek still has days where sometimes music can't help him at all.

Maybe Stiles still has days where he catches sight of the razor in the bathroom and thinks what if?

Just because you can't see the rest of the story, doesn’t mean it never happened.

This started with two boys, and ends with two boys in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I took a quick break from excess of liberty to do this, it's something that I posted before in another fandom on another site, but I changed all the names and fixed it up, and here we are. I think I have tagged it appropriately, since it is a heavy subject, but if you think there is anything I've left out, tell me and I'll fix it. As always, please comment/kudos/bookmark/subscribe. If any of you want to make a mix or fanart PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do, it would make me so happy. If you want to find me, I am fuckyesstilesstilinski on Tumblr. I mainly post Teen Wolf and Supernatural, and whatever shit I find amusing. Hope to see y'all soon!


End file.
